Archive

Having recently re-subscribed to the “Less is best” school of life grad program, here is my burn out—I mean — burnt offering for the coming holidays. These are the things which can still make me laugh out loud, long and so hard, I risk a ruptured gut. Pretty sure you’ll agree.

My life is finally one with the universe. Well, the universe as I perceive it anyhow. Spike Lee, peanut head film auteur & Knicks fan, spoke out recently—no breaking news there, he does it a lot. That he called the works of Tyler Perry buffoonery, suggesting it was setting the cause of African-Americans back faster than Oprah can load a dish at an all you can eat buffet, is the shocker. Not sure I can live in a world where Spike Lee and I agree, so I’ll add the following—Tyler Perry is setting the entire human race back. Now that’s a race problem!

Perry’s partner in a recent movie release, Winfrey, has announced she’ll be ending her TV show in 2011. This one made me laugh so hard I might have to sue her for the sutures my sides required. 2011?!… Hold on, maybe she knows something! [see below] Regardless, she’ll no doubt pull a Leno and turn up on a night time version. Let’s see, I bet it will be called O! What a Night. I like O! What a Load.

The 2009 Major League baseball season ended the way it always should, so no gloat-fest here. Two things do need addressing. One is the phrase “bought players.” Teams sign players to contracts—- often for huge money. Yes, they all have the option to do so. While the jaded fan may choose to esteem that process as “buying,” they are morons. Abe Lincoln freed the slaves with that old Emancipation Proclamation. Nobody ain’t buyin’ nobody no mo’. To claim the Yankees bought C.C. Sabathia is racist. BTW did I mention THE YANKEES WIN! THE_UHHHHHHHHH YANKEES WIN!!

As for Bud Selig, 80 year old used car salesman/baseball commissioner (@ $20 million per annum). He just noticed the time lag between playoff games is a bit extreme. Wow! 20 mil doesn’t buy the quality brains does it. Of course, LA of A Angels manager of the year Mike Scioscia complained about it. Mainly due to the Angels losing. If Yankees mgr. Joe Girardi had bitched, a fresh round of anti-NYY sentiment would have filled the airwaves in red hot parallel pinstripes to the yowls of “Yankees bought another World Series” bullshit. Those fellas need some new slogans. I have one for them — STFU.

Read some history you a-holes. Sports has always been this way. You can’t sit around smugly saying life ain’t fair – deal with it to people having a rough time of it now- and then cry when your team gets whupped. Mainly because they are cheapskates. Why doesn’t Selig donate 18 or 19 million of his take, to the team with the worst record each year, so they can S I G N a big time free agent. AS if that alone assures anyone of positive results. MLB needs a major league overhaul, with a tier & rewards system for team performance. They won’t do it, because suits like Pud & his cronies like it the way it is-stoopit. Don’t blame the Yankees, blame the owners of all the other teams. But you won’t.

Nobody cries but NYY fans when tyro low payroll teams like the Florida Marlins & Arizona Diamondbacks beat the Yankees on a fluke & their owners bank the cake for trophy wives and ocean front property in Palm Springs. Oh! then it’s David v. Goliath and if it’s like a story in the Bible, it’s good enough for Joe Redass. When did douche baggery start ruling the world?

Which dovetails, in an un-dove like way to a socio-religious aspect of the current flick 2012. Seems they are ecumenical in their destruction of world religious symbols. Oh wait, they forgot to blow up any Islamic sites. Wouldn’t want to offend those clowns. Now I think of it, they do a pretty good job of blowing up the world themselves, literally and figuratively. If somebody told them the truth about the virgins (actually it’s a box of raisins – you could look it up), do you think they’d do that reprehensible shameful Bombing for Allahs trick? Still, all that doesn’t excuse the P.C. pandering of the film makers. Weak. Very.

Continuing on in the weak dept., there is a sports talk host on WFAN, New York City. The guy is a man of the people type, he speaks English natively, but he mangles it grammatically. He can barely speak a sentence without stammering and repeating words. Was this a pity hire? Hey! that’s fine on some small radio station in the sticks, not on the seminal sports powerhouse, in the world’s largest and most influential media market. The worst part is, a typical sports talk show attracts limited intellect callers. This guy’s audience takes it to a new low, the mouth breather boxing fans are the most virulent. He’s on now like 8 nights a week. Can anyone say—video of suits with donkeys?

It’s obvious, I’m thankful for all the laughter this has all brought me. I’m looking forward to all the swell things 2010 will bring. After all, we’re at the 2 year warning—the Mayan Calendar ends in 2012. Anybody else notice it’s “the Calendar?” My @#%&*! calendar ends every year. My only hope is every year would end with-

My life has always been lived in parallel lines. The geometrical manifestation of that which runs side by side, destined to never meet. Here’s an example or two.

When I was 20, I was a teacher aide in an inner city school, troubled by a lack of student discipline, due to drug use. Mostly marijuana, some of it heroin. This was before crack was cool & ecstasy was only a dream of getting Susie Q to third base in the back seat of the Ford.

Having just failed ( then )as an entrepreneur in the burgeoning head shop business, due to a personal ethos that dictated never selling drug paraphernalia, I got the aide gig. That was my first cosmic/ironic clue I’d have troubles making ends meet ( see parallel lines above ). But even by age 20, I’d had experience in spotting a doper. After all, most of my so called friends were—they required it, they told me, so they could be better musicians.

Eventually, after having my heart broken by girls and the music business, I succumbed one party night to trying some mushrooms, or organic mescaline, as approved by Castaneda’s Don Juan. Administered by the drummer. What fun! I almost got busted first time out of the gate. Not content with a good beer high or even a doobie buzz, I went straight—OK wrong word—directly to tripping.

It was yet another portent— I saw God—(who looked remarkably like a much older version of me!), seemed like a good guy. At the time. . .. Then, with my antennae, abnormally sensitive on a regular day, way up high, I heard the inner voice say—look out the window dude. I saw a blinking red light in the dark street, coming from next door, in the suburb we were partying.

A devotee of Sherlock Holmes, I instantly deduced — police. Ran up stairs, announcing it room to room. Much flushing took place & on cue, the door bell rang. One officer, very polite, told the kid whose parents were out of town for the Memorial Day weekend (natch), there had been a complaint about drums. Yes, he had been playing them loud + long, earlier, but he promised the cop, he was done for the night.

As he was a clean cut young man, and the back windows had been open, the cloud of cannabis was wafting points due west, away from the officer’s nose. Case closed. Me, still trippin’, I dodged bullet one. Much praise from the rest. Sadly, with one exception, they were male, the lone girl, was taken. No grateful girl to, well, you know, for saving her ass. Oh well. I did get to meet God. By the way, God told me I was going to be all right. Still waiting. . ..

Back to school. So, I knew a drugged out kid when I saw one. But after having been threatened ” I’ll cut you up Mod Squad! ” by a sister ( possibly Tyler Perry’s ) with a nail file, whose smacked out boyfriend told her–“he’s cool” I started rethinking the gig. About the same time I learned one of the students (girl) was having sex with a teacher (male). Now, I was not a teacher, I was a 20 year old aide. The reason I found out about those two though, was because I had formed a Platonic palship with the bff of the girl in question. If you knew me, you’d know when I say Platonic (paltonic?*), I mean it.

I was more flex then. Not to mention, active. I was into being monogamous and sincerely wanted just one good chick. In retrospect or in a time machine, I’d likely moderate that position. A lot. Using the Kama Sutra as a primer. Any way, when a work/study girl propositioned me in the hall one day, I closed my eyes and thought of England. It was a What Would John (Lennon) Do moment. Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I still remember all their names too.

What I really wanted to say though is, any given school day I ‘d be sashaying down the hall. One conversation I’m criticized for using “college” words. The next, I’d go off in a blue cloud about junkies with sharp implements and get the worn out “using profanity is the sign of a small vocabulary,” lecture. Well, I was pissed off at the fucker who. . .oh, never mind.

It’s always been that way. I’d walk down the street in a small town and one person would comment—“you look so much better now you’ve shaved off your beard.” The very next would say ” grow your beard back.” What was most disconcerting is the former observer was male, the latter a female. Have I mentioned I’m a devout heterosexual? Well, unless the only way to get a threesome with Bridget Regan & Abbie Cornish is to go through Hugh Jackman. Tina Fey & Katrina Bowden? Sigh.

This special edition is brought to you by Norfolk-Southern Railroad. Here in Bubbadoon, I live a mile from the railroad track (more parallel lines). When I first moved here, the people in the community immediately adjacent to the tracks, voted to ban train whistles from midnight to 6 AM. The train suits ( standard issue fat white guys ) had much more clout and were able to have the legal voice of the people vote overturned. That’s why I am awake and filing this, two train whistles, 10 minutes apart at 2:30AM.

I bet there are more deaf drivers at 3:10 AM then say, BLIND ones. There are with certitude a greater amount of people sleeping than drivers crossing those fucking tracks. Why can’t these assholes just employ a few more flashing red lights. Shit, those warn even humans who might be tripping for the first time. AND that’s why I hate the South.

I am so worn out with people pontificating, who have never read a book, much less studied history. Even in their own ( and only ) area, of so called expertise. Yet, they look at everything through a toy microscope, while seemingly observing nothing beyond the obvious at the macro level, around them. They do have a name—they are the sports talk hosts, sports writers & the majority of sports fans. There is an old saying: If you can’t be a sport, at least wear a sport’s coat. Sport’s coat collection keeps getting pilfered by the aforementioned. AND they are ill-fitting.

ESPN is purportedly a sports and entertainment network. Most of their program content panders to the NFL and the Boston Red Sox. They have all the instincts of piranha with blood in the water. The current Alex Rodriguez story of steroid abuse, is right in their wheelhouse. They are tracking down A Rod cousins with the pit-bull tenacity of a yenta trying to get a match for an unmarried Hasidic woman pushing 30.

Only a lead with a heavy anti-Yankee angle could drag ESPN kicking & screaming from sucking up to the NFL. The National Football League—where 104 players guilty of steroid use would be the results for just two of their teams. Admittedly, it would be believable if an NFL player had no idea what substance he was shooting up. Baseball players are not all that bright, but compared to football & the other sports ( tennis the one exception ), they are virtual MENSA members.

Oh yes, ESPN is having a field day with A Rod’s downfall. Every move is analyzed, every facial expression critiqued. I can’t help but wonder how they’d have handled this, had Rodriguez become a Boston Red Sox player. Something which almost happened, but for the greed of the Major League Players Association.

Here’s how I imagine ESPN handling the same story—only A Rod is on the A Sox, er I mean Red Sox. . ..

Sports Center— A MLB player, whose anonymity is legally protected, has allegedly tested positive for a substance. This is ESPN Sports Center. Now back to Mike, Mike, Mike, plus Mike with special guest—Other Mike.

Alex Rodriguez aka A Rod aka A-Fraud aka A Roid * tested positive for anabolic steroids in 2003, according to a story in Sports Illustrated. He was a then member of the MLB franchise Texas Rangers ( now a New York Yankee ). Yankee haters have all ready jumped on the NY organization, as if they needed another excuse. This because Roger Clemens, Jason Giambi & Andy Pettitte, past & present NYY, are also tainted by purported juice use. Barry Bonds, who may actually walk on his charges, missed being a Yankee because he didn’t like the way they treated his father Bobby, who by all accounts swung to his own beat.

All these issues go much deeper than athletes doing drugs to enhance their performance. When the US passed the Volstead Act in 1919 and the Prohibition Era ruled American life, it was with the best of intentions. The negative effects of alcoholic beverage consumption on the family and society was the virtuous ( ? ) impetus. And it failed early and often, creating lots of crime, drunkenness & the Kennedys of Boston, Mass. After 13+ years & a lot of flapper pregnancies, it was repealed and Americans went back to getting a good old legal buzz. I don’t drink alcoholic beverages because I don’t like the taste of alcohol though I have been known to make a few women under the influence, sober magically, once they get a load of my act.

Anabolic steroids are illegal without a doctor’s prescription. This is due to long term effects, one of which is premature death. Even after steroids were against the law, sports entities lagged behind in the rule making department. So, part of many players defense is—it wasn’t against the rules. Then. For the record, the list of players who failed the drug test, was supposed to be sealed information. It’s not the first time the steroid issue provoked an illegal leak; an act much more sinister than a jock abusing a PED. Meanwhile, for many reasons ( mo$tly obviou$ )the National Football League rolls on, laughing up its sleeve while organized baseball weathers the firestorm.

OK enough history. It’s covered better, with more detail and annotation, elsewhere, ad nauseum. I just wanted to show I knew something about the subject, other than, it’s nothing new. Humans always want an edge. Literally, for example, as in the Stone Age case of Ogg v. Grrrn. Ogg objected to the fact Grrrn had honed the edge of his stone knife. Mr. Ogg was fighting fairly, using a blunt stone. The case was never adjudicated, as Mr. Grrrn stabbed everyone in the cave and ran. All survivors agreed Grrrn made his point—he didn’t need an edge. He was just competitive & possibly the first known sociopath.

Alex Rodriguez catches heat for everything. Choking in the clutch, dating strippers, being a numbers hanger & being seen with Madonna. All the former are moot, the Madonna thing might just prove he needs glasses and could explain the need for performance enhancement. . .. Regardless, he’s an easy target, a Golden Idol, who is turning out to be a gilded lily and getting more tarnished with each passing pigeon carrying bad news.

The Jockocracy hopped on a bandwagon ( they love to—for most of them, it’s their only form of exercise ) a few years ago. This one was called Athletes Are Rôle Models. Then some rebels ( ha ha ha ) got on the Athletes Are NOT Rôle Models float. Well, they are and they aren’t, so they got that part right. Uh, some did–never mind. Any way most of them had been hoping Mr. Rodriguez would erase Barry Bonds’ current but tainted homerun total, because in the sports world, A Rod passed for a good guy. Oops.

What I mean is, sports figures are certainly looked up to by young athletes. Guitar godz are looked to by kids with their first six-string. Rappers, by other no talents dreaming of bling & bad fashion statements. But are they models for morality & integrity? Nope. In fact, hardly anyone is. Certainly there are always exceptions. Mainly because they haven’t had their privacy invaded by a voracious media. Or been caught with their pants off in Thailand. Yet.

The true disconcerting thing is the so called Court of Public Opinion. Essentially this means guilty until proved innocent (it used to be the other way around in the US) and likely even after you’re proclaimed innocent, because idiots who go by the CoPO, are too ignorant to form a new opinion. You know what they say about opinions—every one who has one is one (that’s a W quote btw).

I wish athletes never cheated. Or spouses. Or me, and I really didn’t cheat, I just happened to see a copy of a Math test once in 7th grade. Didn’t help my career—QED. I can’t condone it and I do think our culture is going downhill faster than Spanky & Alfalfa in that barrel episode of Little Rascals. That said, it might be the time to reveal Santa isn’t real. The Easter Bunny is not a hot chick who visits good boys on Easter. Though the Tooth Fairy is a fairy ( and that makes his dad sad ).

Still, somebody needs to answer why Bud Selig, Commissioner Of Baseball, makes almost 20 million per annum. Federal fatheads won’t, he’s one of them. For now. As for A Rod? I think Madonna is punishment enough.

Last night MLB exposed itself yet again. All the honchos sat there for 6 innings in severely inclement weather at what was possibly the finale of the 2008 World Series. Temperatures dipped into the 30s F. Rain poured & the chill wind blew pop ups away from last season’s MVP Jimmy Rollins. It’s all in the game. What horse shit. The game itself was finally suspended, and weather permitting will pick up where it left off tied 2-2( a rule change in 2007 has remarkably taken the lords of MLB off the hook for a World Series ending in a game called by rain!) Though the forecast for Philadelphia ( Tuesday Oct. 28 ) is for cold rain.

So much of sports is based on being macho. A kick in the head-shake it off. A kick in the balls? big fun on Sports Center, as jocksniffers laugh & wince then sell some more beer. All they care about is money. And ratings.

They call guys like me whiners—clubhouse lawyers. The less sensitive (ha ha) just say it—fag. Play hard, play hurt or somebody else will. We are all expendable in life, especially in sports. If a player has a career ending injury as a result of performing under these conditions? They’ll say some phoney words of regret and replace him. Never really connecting it to their own bureaucratic cupidity. Words like battle & warrior are typically flung around whenever the jockocracy spews their pap. But what of the fan? the one who funds these contests of the human need to compete and conquer in bouts of pseudo-war. How many went home incubating a potentially serious illness?

Revenue would be lost if Major League Baseball were to shorten the regular season. There are possible solutions but they all end the same way with the suits & unis looking at less dollars. One thing these guys have down is being shortsighted & inflexible. Though they routinely raise ticket prices, food, souvenirs & parking, doing it all at once would be noticeable. For example: We are changing the schedule to 154 games (down from 162) in hopes of starting the playoff/WS season a week sooner—so, we are increasing costs by 2% across the board. The current state of the economy now makes this business suicide. Want to bet they increase some cost for 2009 regardless? not me, I couldn’t stand to lose at this point.

I am not so insular as to not remember when I wanted to play ball, rain or shine. I get the players side. But the higher ups need to prove they belong in an office. They don’t need to pretend they are men. They are not. They are fatcat white men, used car salesmen who never got picked to play in a real sport, with access to bank accounts that pay the freight. Maybe they should buy a clue and some compassion for the humane side of life’s ledger, not just the accounts receivable to the left of the decimal point. Playing ball needs to include playing fair with people, not just to get their last rusty nickel.

Everybody is now after once immortal lock for baseball’s Hall of Fame, Roger Clemens. Latest arm of the Federal Government piling on ( a fitting term seeing as Mr. Clemens was/is a pitcher ) are the Boys of Hoover. He’s lucky it’s not the CIA. I saw a movie where Meryl Streep was in the CIA, she was one stone hearted mama. BTW Meryl is getting chunky, got to be from all those years of scenery chewing. . ..

Yes sir, the FBI will be investigating, while The CEO of the USA, is making dead grandma jokes about Latin lunkhead Manny Ramirez. Manny, being Manny, a state of being coined by somebody in Boston, likely not from Harvard, depicting moronic behavior as an expression of Ramirez’ individuality. I know he can’t, but can you say: E U P H E M I S M?

Seems Ramirez didn’t show up for the Boston victory lap around the Rose Garden. Again. He didn’t make it in 2K4 either.
I’m betting his excuse is he was off in his home country, the Bronx. Manny doesn’t know that’s in the US, a hundred miles or so to DC being too much of a hardship expense for a multi-millionaire. He does know he’s wealthy because he owns way too many vintage cars. Probably didn’t want to drive one of those babies on the Beltway. Elijah Dukes is with the Washington Nationals now, he’d key a quarter million dollar Bentley just because he saw his reflection in it.

Now looky here. No, here> If you break a law, especially one they made for your own good ( anabolic steroids & human growth hormones [HGH] bad! ), you shouldn’t be allowed to skate. I guess the cheating in sports angle really pisses a lot of people off too. Bettors get surly, makes things unpredictable, er, more unpredictable. I certainly didn’t care much for Roger Clemens when he was with another team, hmmmm what was that team? ah yes, those nurturing, benevolent Mother Theresa’s of Massachusetts, the Boston Red Sox, that’s who. They must have known someday he’d turn to drugs, so being high minded, they dumped him. Nothing to do with his four consecutive mediocre seasons. Nope. Which rhymes with ____?

I, for one, will sleep better and better, each time an athlete is punished to the full extent of the law for attempting to extend his career or get an edge. When Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens are taught a lesson, possibly water boarding, who knows, maybe all the political/religious extremists who hate US Americans, will rehabilitate themselves. Ray Stevens would like it, he could release a song parody of his old hit, the new one would be Rehab the Arab( pronounced w/a long A, like Mr. Bush would ). I wouldn’t want a PED Clemens fastball coming at my head in a dark alley! AND I damn sure don’t like the idea of Bonds breaking up my no hitter with a HGH homerun. Hell no!

Rumor has it the Writers Guild is nearing a contract. This will mean new scripts and/or those on hold, will be available for projects all across the media. Yippie. And I mean it.

I have some things I don’t grasp about writing, specifically for television(teleplays). It’s centered around a pedestrian plot device & female foot wear. Any veteran viewer will know of what I speak, as soon as I get to it.

SCRUBS, a much better than average hospital situation comedy, is in it’s final season. They’ve had a roller coaster ride. Every season renewal was doubtful, though critically acclaimed. One of the young leads, Zach Braff, has launched a independent film career during his tenure. But ratings were always less than what NBC had in mind. Still SCRUBS persevered for seven seasons. Can you say syndication bucks? They sure can.

Here’s why I cite them. Seems as if every freakin’ character on the show has had a baby, a second baby, wants a baby or just likes to talk about babies ( creepy ). Historically in TV Land, in the land of the bland, the one note man is King, that TV Land; a baby( or theoretically cute young child ) is injected into a show, in hopes of boosting sinking ratings. Once upon a time, some network suit made that suggestion ‘ take one baby, just add poop jokes ‘(or stole it, more than likely from a kid in the mailroom) and it worked. So, for the last 50 years, it’s the go to fix. The phrase Jump the Shark, is more like it. Does anybody remember Cousin Oliver?

My best guess is the SCRUBS people are just having a laugh up their scrubs sleeves. Meanwhile, the writing is still funny & occasionally poignant. The baby shit however. . . not so much. And yet, I wondered, what larger scenarios might become more popular, by adding a baby.

OK I bet you thought this right away too! The White House. Mr. & Mrs. Bush could get the married twin ( one is married right? I’m a writer dammit, poetic license ) and have her live there pregnant and give birth ( ideally in the Oval Office ), for the final year of Bushocracy. Wackiness ensues at press conferences and State dinners. Grandpa George was a wild card at them—imagine the grandkid! I smell a hit. Possibly something else. . ..

By extension then, add a baby to the Iraqui War. Have the whole Armed Forces adopt one. Humanizing, sentimental and distracting. Can’t miss. There can be new WMD jokes ( make up your own words, it will be easy ), scenes of the baby being fed during house to house searches, first steps ( and missteps, booboos!), first words: I’m guessing they will be: fire my !@#%* agent! Let’s call it: Shock and Awwww.

Apologies to Jonathan Swift’s Modest Proposal aside, I could go on and on. Luckily for everyone, I am having an episode of dropsy. So, just one more pitch. It could get rough here, you might want to stop reading. Hey! I warned you. How about for special downs during the Super Bowl, instead of a football. . .. Just kidding. They don’t need bigger ratings. Maybe just get the kid drunk on Bud, put it behind the wheel of a Dodge RAM. If they can get it to drive to an Army recruiter? BOOM! TV gold.

Now, for the footwear. I don’t like high heels. So, from my POV, no occasion, in any room. . . calls for a woman to wear them. Yeah, yeah I know what they do. Who cares. They can’t be fun to walk in or really do anything upright; most women would likely agree on that point, right after attending to their blisters. But when I see female characters who are purportedly police or FBI or meter maids running down a bad guy wearing stilettos, my brain blisters. You can’t convince me a woman smart enough to be a doctor or a nurse is working those 20 hour shifts in spikes. Who has final script approval? Hugh Hefner? Where are those femi-nazis when you need them? It’s just dumbass. Somebody needs to er, step in and put their foot down.

Though, if there was a show with a baby cop in a pair of sky high heels! Wow. I think I’d watch. If the writing is good, naturally.